I'll not say a thing

   stunned into the livid (re)countenance

   dreaming, focusing abstractly led to things

   pulled from back pockets lung aching

   I’ll have said death

   'I'

      (having been said before)

   through what has been said before
                                                                  have not begun

   stretching my legs beneath the floor

   watching what is written come through the door

         moving in             to

   moving

            out & I
          return

               having to say

the pale light

      reach          through paper

is being the paper, and you

   not around, across the field, this happens again

      the window

moving away, reappears

      clear again.